Always thinking, but not necessarily writing it down, or sharing what I’ve written.  We each separately long to be understood at our innermost and loved.

To hear the sighs of others and the echoes of whispers and wounds behind them.

This is what it is to be human.

To be known.

To belong.

To love and be loved.

To be a part of something that is so much larger than just ourselves

that is almost humorous to think of our selves.

You have kept me alive.


Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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